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So, coming to a thriving place,
They hired a lofty hall,
And on the corners of the streets

Put handbills, great and small,
Telling the people, far and near,
In printed black and white,
They'd give a show of wax work

In the great town-hall that night.
Of course the people thought to see
A show, of figures grand, -
Napoleon, Byron, George the Third,
And great men of our land,

Of Mary, Queen of Scots you know,
And monks in black and white,
Heroes, peasants, potentates,

In "wax work" brought to light.

One of the Yankees had, they say,
No palate to his mouth,
And this, perhaps, the reason was
Why he was going South;
Be that as it may,-you see
He couldn't speak quite plain,
But talked with much obscurity,
And sometimes talked in vain.

The other was a handsome man,
Quite pleasant, and quite fine;
He had a form of finest mould,
And straight as any pine.
Indeed, he was a handsome man

As you will often see,

Much more so than you,

But like President Grant,

or you,

or you,

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or me.

This handsome man stood at the door

To let the people in,

And the way he took the quarters

And the shillings was a sin:

And when the time of show had come,
He a curtain pulled aside,

And our friend without a palate,
Stood in all his pomp and pride.
And in his brawny hand he held
A pound or two, or more,
Of shoemaker's wax, which he
Had some time made before.
He began to work it,

And his audience thus addressed,
And the people looked and listened;
Let their great surprise be guessed!

Said he, "My friends, how some folks cheat, I never could conceive;

But this is the real wax work,

For I stoop not to deceive:

This is your real wax work,

For your quarters and your twelves;-
Ladies and gentlemen, just walk up
And examine for yourselves!"

But when the people saw the joke,
With anger they turned pale,
Hammer and tongs they came at him,
To ride him on a rail;

But he had an open window,
And a ladder to the ground,
And just as he went out of sight,
He turned himself around,

And holding up the wax to view,
Said, with a saucy grin,
"My friends here's no deception,
For I scorn to take you in;
This is real wax work,

For your quarters and your twelves;

Ladies and gentlemen, please walk up
And examine for yourselves."

ANONYMOUS.

ZENOBIA'S AMBITION.

I AM charged with pride and ambition. The charge is true, and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved anything great in letters, arts, or arms, who was not ambitious? Cæsar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It was but in another way. Let the ambition be a noble one, and who shall blame it? I confess I did once aspire to be queen, not only of Palmyra, but of the East. That I am. I now aspire to remain so. Is it not an honorable ambition? Does it not become a descendant of the Ptolemies and of Cleopatra?

I am applauded by you all for what I have already done. You would not it should have been less. But why pause here? Is so much ambition praiseworthy, and more criminal? Is it fixed in nature that the limits of this empire should be Egypt, on the one hand, the Hellespont and the Euxine, on the other? Were not Suez and Armenia more natural limits? Or hath empire no natural limit, but is broad as the genius that can devise, and the power that can win?

Rome has the West. Let Palmyra possess the East. Not that nature prescribes this and no more. The gods prospering, and I swear not that the Mediterranean shall hem me in upon the west, or Persia on the east. Longinus is right,

I would that the world were mine.

will and the power to bless it, were it so.

I feel, within, the

Are not my people happy? I look upon the past and the present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects, and ask, nor fear the answer. Whom have I wronged? What province have I oppressed? What city pillaged? What region drained with taxes? Whose life have I unjustly taken, or estates coveted or robbed? Whose honor have I wantonly assailed? Whose rights, though of the weakest and poorest, have I trenched upon? I dwell, where I would ever dwell,

in the hearts of my people. It is written in your faces, that I reign not more over you than within you. The foundation of my throne is not more power than love.

Suppose, now, my ambition add another province to our realm. Is it an evil? The kingdoms already bound to us by the joint acts of ourself and the late royal Odenatus, we found discordant and at war. They are now united and at peace. One harmonious whole has grown out of hostile and sundered parts. At my hands they receive a common justice and equal benefits. The channels of their commerce have I opened, and dug them deep and sure. Prosperity and plenty are in all their borders. The streets of our capital bear testimony to the distant and various industry which here seeks its market.

This is no vain boasting: — receive it not so, good friends. It is but truth. He who traduces himself, sins with him who traduces another. He who is unjust to himself, or less than just, breaks a law, as well as he who hurts his neighbor. I tell you what I am, and what I have done, that your trust for the future may not rest upon ignorant grounds. If I am more than just to myself, rebuke me. If I have overstepped the modesty that became me, I am open to your censure, and

will bear it.

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But I have spoken, that you may know your queen, not only by her acts, but by her you then that I am ambitious, while I live will reign. throne is my natural seat. you can bear me witness that I do, that it shall be, while

admitted principles. I tell that I crave dominion, and Sprung from a line of kings, a I love it. But I strive, too,

I sit upon it, an honored, unpolluted hang a yet brighter glory around it.

seat. If I can, I will

WILLIAM Ware.

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.

COME, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 'tis at a white heat

now;

The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow

The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass

there.

The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves below,

And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe; It rises, roars, rends all outright — O Vulcan, what a glow! 'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright; the high sun shines

not so;

The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show; The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid

row

Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the

foe;

As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow

Sinks on the anvil all about the faces fiery grow

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"Hurrah!" they shout; "leap out! leap out!" bang, bang, the sledges go.

Leap out, leap out, my masters; leap out and lay on load!
Let's forge a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and broad;
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode,
And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road;
The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean poured
From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the

board;

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